


underneath this skin (there's a human)

by biochemprincess



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Marvel 616 (Freeform), Post - 3x02, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:17:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4973068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biochemprincess/pseuds/biochemprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma returns from the alien planet and tries her hardest to recover from the trauma she has suffered. But in the midst of coming to terms with her survival, the question arises, if that's the only change about her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	underneath this skin (there's a human)

**Author's Note:**

> This was born out of a theory post on tumblr and the fact that I really love the idea of Space Queen Jemma. As I put in the tags, this also deals with PTSD. I don't claim to be an expert on the topic, so if I did something completely wrong, please let me know. It also might be triggering, so please be aware.
> 
> Title is from the lyrics to 'Human' by Daughter.
> 
> I hope you enjoy your read :)

* * *

 

 

_“I told her once I wasn’t good at anything. She told me survival is a talent.”_

— SUSANNA KAYSEN,  _GIRL, INTERRUPTED_

 

* * *

She breathes out dirt and it reminds her of choking on salt water, of swimming for her life - and his - to escape the fate of drowning. Once again, there's another body next to her, another hand attached to hers, and for a short moment, Jemma thinks that somebody has transported her back in time.

But it's not cold here, at least not as cold as the ocean had been, and the desert storm is gone too. She is not surrounded by water this time, it's ash and sand instead.

She turns her head and looks at the person next to her.

_Fitz._

_Fitz._

"Fitz."

Relief floods her veins, through every capillary until her whole body sings, on a high of endorphins and happiness. Jemma's eyes fill with tears she can't hold back and when he turns his face towards a source of light somewhere above them, she takes the chance to burrow her head in the crock of his neck.

She tries to wrap her arms around his upper body, just the way he clings to her shoulder, but she doesn't succeed. Her muscles, her nerves, all the cells of her body, are too tired to perform such a basic task.

So she does nothing more but cry into his shoulder and let the relief wash over her like ocean waves crashing against the shore, soft and gentle.

She doesn't let go of him, only holds onto him like he is a lifeline. And isn't he, Jemma thinks, after he'd pulled her out of the foreign world she's been in? Surrounded by debris and sand, more lying than sitting, more dead than alive, she's never been more grateful for the friend she's found all those years ago.

They're lifted into the air and she doesn't let go then either; holds even firmer as the movement threatens to separate them. Fitz tightens his grip around her too, smiling at her brightly.

He's seeing the sun, a new dawn.

Jemma hopes she returns the smile.

She isn't sure.

When she's standing on solid ground, they assemble in front of her. She recognizes exhausted smiles and their very own relief radiating from them, but her eyes are barely open at this point. She's too preoccupied with breathing, standing, existing. The prospect of not having to survive anymore is almost too much to handle.

_She has survived._

_She has survived._

_She has survived._

Hands touch her and it feels too much, having somebody so close to her, without any distance in between. There are other people now again, breathing the same air as she does and it sets her on edge.

_Stop._

_Stop._

_Stop._

She might say it out loud, because the hands stop touching her now, only lightly guide her to lie down on a stretcher. Her breathing calms slightly, but her heartbeat is too high to take a proper pulse. They crouch down next to her, Fitz and Bobbi and Skye and --- is that the Asgardian?

They are here, with her, but she is too tired to acknowledge any of them.

She can't speak. Not now.

She can't answer them. Not now.

So she closes her eyes, only for a second, because microsleep is alright, but she needs to wake up again, or otherwise the monsters will find her and she'll die - die - die ---

The darkness comes and it takes her under its wing.

 

-

-

 

Something cold, artificial starts flowing through her veins. Jemma can feel it. Her eyes flutter open for a quick moment, revealing Fitz watching over her. His elbows are on his thighs and his hands are fidgeting with something she can't spot properly.

Bobbi stands next to her, gloves on, an infusion still in her hands.

They want to help, she knows.

But it takes all power left to not tear off the IV, get up and run. Her body is vibrating and she wants to run as far as she can make it, until her legs give out and her lungs can't breath.

 _These are your friends_ , Jemma tells herself.  _They want your best._

 

-

-

 

_The Queen Is Dead, Long Live The Queen._

_The black cloak weighs heavy upon her shoulders; thick soft fabric caressing her bare shoulders. A strapless dress clings to her body, as if it has been tailor-made for her, and it feels like wearing ocean waves and the soft white clouds of a summer day._

_It feels like heaven, literally._

_(Or what she thinks heaven must feel like.)_

_Somebody has woven laurel leaves into her hair, she doesn't remember who - it might have been her own hands - and she wears them like a crown._

_The Queen Is Dead, Long Live The Queen._

_Wafts of dark mist hang in the air. With every step she takes, she is walking over broken glass, broken bones, broken dreams. This is a land of waste and devastation, filled with hopelessness and death._

_But that's not everything, far from it._

_A full moon illuminates the darkness. With every step she takes, flowers grow where her heels leave footprints in the dirt. This is a land of age and solitude, filled with the ones that have had their last breath, the ones that stay._

_She pushes back the hood of the cloak and overlooks the valley below her. The wind picks up, gathering even more strength. The howling of the wind mixes with the howling of the wolves, until she can't which is louder._

_Something feels different, she thinks._

_The ambiance changes. The growl of an angry animal echoes from behind, over hills and the valley below. She turns around, completely free of any fear, to face the imminent danger. A wolf bares its teeth, glowing yellow eyes staring at her. Suddenly it opens its mouth and lets out a long, high cry directed at her and everything turns black._

_The Queen Is Dead, Long Live The Queen._

 

-  
-

 

She wakes with a start, heart beating as fast as jungle drums. Her left hand is clutching a sharp piece of wood. She had needed a weapon, desperately, so she had broken it off a broom stick earlier in the evening. It had been the only available option.

The time, when she had had a choice, when she had the right to be picky about her weapons is long gone.

She looks around the room for any kind of danger, like a wild animal. And isn't she one now too? Because what is it that discerns animals from humans after all?

Jemma looks to her right, only to find Fitz sleeping upright. She drops both her hand and the stick, albeit hesitantly.

His sleeping posture reminds her of simpler times, back then when they'd still been students at the Academy. She had spent long nights in the lab, barely needing any sleep while still maintaining her high performance and perfect grades.

Fitz on the other hand had always had a sensitive sleeping pattern, unbearable to work with if awoken early and more than grumpy when kept awake for too long. They had had arguments about it more than once, with her telling him to just leave her and go to bed. But he had never listened.

He had always gotten his beauty sleep, yes, but he had always stayed with her in the lab, his head on surface it shouldn't have been or sitting, like he does now.

Jemma feels the sudden urge to touch him, craves for contact, for skin on skin. The hungry wolf inside her is starving for touch, for being able to finally feel another person's heartbeat again.

With her head on his thigh and her hand on his knee, she lets sleep claim her once again. The strange dream that had woken her up is barely a fleeting memory anymore. Jemma can't even remember what it was about.

The smell of laurel is the last thing she remembers.

 

-  
-

 

"Sorry."

Jemma looks up in confusion and finds Bobbi expressing sincere sympathy. She belatedly realizes that she must have winced in pain when the needle had pierced her skin.

She simply shrugs.

It's --- unfamiliar, receiving a response to an emotional reaction on her part. Being seen and heard after living as a ghost for such a long time is something she has to get used to again.

The quarantine doesn't really help the problem either.

(But she gets it. She understands. She really does. She'd do the same. It feels lonely none the less.)

"Don't worry about it."

Bobbi continues to fill more vials with Jemma's blood, while trying to not cause her any pain, any discomfort. Jemma knows how hard she tries, she can see the sweat on Bobbi's forehead, under the air - tight suit.

"Why are you wearing a hazmat suit and Fitz is allowed in without one?"

Bobbi raises an eyebrow and smirks at her. "Coulson. The loss of his hand went straight to his head. Fitz has been in the alien world too. And he does what he wants anyway."

"Sounds like nothing has changed."

"Thank you." Jemma says. She presses the pad on the injection site to avoid a huge haematoma. She also avoids Bobbi's reaction to her words.

"What for?" The other scientist asks.

"Taking care of Fitz."

"The boy can take care of himself just fine."

Jemma doesn't disagree. "I know. But i'm still glad somebody looked out for him."

 

-  
-

 

Skye looks at her for the smaller part of a second, before opening the door to the pod and pulling her into a bone crushing hug. (The quarantine is more a guideline than a fixed rule.)

Her first instinct is to pull away, kick her knee into her guts and run.

Her second instinct is to come closer and run a sharp object into the base of her skull.

Her third instinct is to pull away and throw up, because this is her friend and she thinks about all the ways she could kill her. 

Jemma tenses under the embrace and Skye must feel it too, because she lets go immediately.

"Sorry."

"No, it's okay." she says, but breathing becomes easier once the immediate danger of suffocating is gone. "I really missed you too, Skye."

Her friend cracks a smile. "It's Daisy now." she says almost bashfully.

Daisy.

Jemma gives her an overall look, takes in the different clothes and the new hair style. Everything about Skye - Daisy, is so perfectly put together, she feels a pang of jealousy and shame. Because she is a mess in over-sized casual wear, because everything else feels as if she is choking on thin air.

"That's so great, Daisy." Jemma responds, really meaning every words. "Have you heard every flower joke by now?"

Daisy grins. "Hunter and Mack really try their best to cover them all." 

"Good."

"What did you miss the most?"

"Showering." Jemma answers. It's a safe answer and navigating on safe ground is easier than opening up about painful truths. (And it is very true.)

Daisy laughs about it, before taking a place on the bench. Jemma sits next to her and Daisy starts talking about everything and nothing. Jemma does nothing else but listen.

It feels glorious.

 

-  
-

 

"You don't need to try your tricks on me. I don't want to talk about it. About anything."

Andrew puts down his coffee mug on the side table. They have the common room and a lot of time for themselves.

"Who said I wanted to talk?"

Jemma puts her hands in her lap and raises an eyebrow. "I figured as much. You always want to talk."

He uncrosses his legs, signaling an open posture. His gaze scrutinizes her from head to toe.

"What if we just start simple things?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Whatever you want to share with me. We have the whole morning until lunch and we can spend it in silence together. I don't mind. But we can also talk about whatever you want."

She sighs, knowing when to give in.

"Ask me a question and I'll decided if I want to give you an answer."

"Alright. What did you eat there?"

He doesn't ask 'How did you survive'; he calls it 'there' vaguely, and Jemma doesn't really know if she should be glad he tries to soften the blow for her or not. It's a nice sentiment in any case.

"Berries, at first. I didn't know if they were poisonous or not. But I tested them."

"How?"

"Rubbed them on my skin. Chewed them for a long time before swallowing. I also followed the colour rule."

"What colour rule?" Andrew asks interestedly.

She swallows down a lump in her throat. Her mouth is a little dry, still unused to such an extensive amount of talking after months of not talking.

"Never eat white and yellow berries. Avoid red berries if possible. Blue ones are your best chance." Jemma brushes a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. It's getting hotter every second. Her hands shake, almost unnoticeable, but she tucks them under her thighs to hide it.

Andrew notices, of course he does.

"How did you know you could be sure it would work?"

_I didn't._

_I was sure I was going to die._

But she remains silent. Because there are things she cannot say - not yet, maybe never - and it includes the utter hopelessness of the first week. No words can describe it, so she doesn't try.

"What else?"

"There were birds. Huge, like vultures. But their movements were slow and they had a soft spot in their head, similar to a baby's fontanel. You can literally kill them with a stone."

"Anything else?"

They talk for a while, but talking exhausts her more and more. Her answers monosyllabic, until she stops giving them at all. Andrew takes few notes, probably cataloging everything in his mind.

"We should call it a day." 

"So, what's your diagnosis, Doc?" She wants to lighten the mood, but his face tells another story.

"From what I've seen ---" he begins and Jemma's head immediately jumps to the last time somebody said these words to her.

_But from what I've seen the only thing that makes him worse is you._

Mack's words are sudden intruders in her mind, unpleasant and unwelcome. She can't shake the thought whatever he's going to say next will hurt as much as those words still hurt her a year later.

"--- your behaviour indicates a post traumatic stress disorder."

"Only soldiers have PTSD."

"That's not true. But lets say it were, would you say you are not?"

_I don't know._

_I don't know._

_I don't know._

"I don't know. Everybody would try to survive."

"But not everybody would have succeeded."

Jemma nods in absent of another reaction.

"I have one last question. It has nothing to do with you, it's only to satisfy my personal curiosity." His voice doesn't sound any different than during the last hours, but his behaviour changes ever so slightly. Jemma nods in agreement.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

It's a strange questions, yet Jemma decides to answer it. "I trust you, because I have decided to trust you, all by myself."

But that's not the only reason. There's something else, the reason she decided to trust him in the first place, before she had an opinion on him. She hadn't thought she'd admit it to Andrew, but he asked and she's going to be honest.

"But I also trust you, because May trusts you. And I trust May's judgement."

He nods, like it's an answer he has expected. "Thank you. For your honesty."

Jemma clenches her hands together, before rising from the couch. She doesn't like to be watched, doesn't like when eyes are on her.

"Quid pro quo."

"You remind me of her." Andrew adds suddenly.

"Who?"

"May.

"Why?"

"You have the same way of surviving."

 

-  
-

 

They release her out of quarantine that is not a real quarantine, since everybody comes and goes as they want.

(She keeps sleeping in the pod.)

It feels safer. 

(The dreams continue.)

She keeps quiet about it.

(There is no point in burdening anybody else with her problems.)

 

-  
-

 

_The heavy rain doesn't feel heavy at all as it falls on her skin. It's cleansing, really, getting rid of the old and getting ready for the new. The definitions of old and new are a mystery to her though._

_The scent of pines and wood and green fills her nose. She walks through dark woods, without a single sound to be heard. She must have lost her shoes somewhere. Wet grass and moss tickles the soles of her feet._

_It's not uncomfortable._

_It feels cleansing._

_A new beginning._

 

-  
-

 

Soothing words, murmured into her hair, wake her up. Her whole body shakes, taken hostage by a nightmare of running and running, of wolves following her lead, eating her alive.

"It's okay. You're safe." Fitz's voice is shaking, but his hands are steady, rubbing soft patterns into her arms, her neck, down her spine.

A cocoon of warmth and comfort builds up around her, chasing away the last demons of her nightmare. Her jaw is still clenched together, making it impossible for her to speak. But the tension in her muscles decreases.

The sensation of his touch is overwhelming, but not unwelcome. Jemma hasn't had the courage to ask him to sleep with her - actually sleep - together in the bed, out of fear she could hurt him by accident.

But now that he has in his arms, she does never want to leave them again. When she had dreamed of coming home, it had always been the image of his arms.

After minutes that feel like hours, she's calm enough to say so.

"Do you want me to go?" he asks quietly.

_Don't go._

_Don't go._

_Don't go._

_Don't leave me alone in this world._

She breaths out a soft, "No", and snuggles closer to him until they're wrapped up into each other, like Yin and Yang, tangled up like a ball of wool.

Fitz kisses the crown of her head and she shivers at the contact. For a short moment she opens her eyes and if she weren't so tired and delirious, she'd swear his body is shining in a soft golden glow.

 

-  
-

 

"Treat yo self?"

Fitz repeats the words. The confusion on his face is very adorable, the lights of the pod highlighting his features. Jemma stifles her laugh with the back of her hand. He turns to face her, his face morphed into a mock insulted pout.

Bobbi places the box from under her arms on the bed. From her point of view Jemma can recognize some really expensive chocolate, DVD's and nail polish.

"It's from Parks and Rec, Fitz." Jemma explains.

"Exactly. Hunter and I marathoned it during the last few months." Bobbi adds, already sifting through her box.

"Why did you never invite me to watch with you?" Yes, Fitz is definitely offended now.

"I asked you. More than once."

The tone is just the tiniest bit too light, too casual. Bobbi's talking without spelling the words out for her. Jemma knows what she's trying to say. She also knows how Fitz gets when he wants to solve problem, that seems unsolvable.

And the problem for him during the last few months was her and her disappearance.

The problem for her during the last few months was her survival.

"And what do you want us to do exactly?" Jemma asks for better understanding.

Bobbi grins like a Cheshire cat. "We're going to pamper ourselves. Pick a colour, I'm gonna paint your nails. Both of you."

"Nobody is going to paint my nails." Fitz exclaims. 

"Yes we are." Jemma and Bobbi say in unison. He looks between the two of them and sighs in defeat. He knows when a battle is lost.

They put on 'The Little Mermaid' and eat all the candy Bobbi has in her 'Treat Yo Self' - box. Jemma chooses a bright neon purple for her nails, wheres Bobbi decides on a blue one.  

"Do you have a clear one?"

"That's cheating,  _Leopold_."

"You know what,  _Barbara_? I don't care."

Jemma has never met anyone who had called Fitz by his first name and lived (except his Mum), so she's quite impressed. But there's also nobody who dare to call Bobbi by her name, so maybe they are even.

"Don't be a spoilsport." Jemma interrupts. She rummages through the box and pulls out a silver nail polish, with glitter particles. "This one."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"You're gonna look fabulous."

(He, of course, looks fabulous.)

 

-  
-

 

The dreams don't stop, only become more frequent.

The longer they continue, the more tired she becomes.

Exhaustion takes over her functions, weighs her down, slows every movement. Jemma spends her nights unconscious but not asleep. Her nights are filled with dreams and those dreams are filled with running and fighting and powerful magic.

She can hardly remember any details in the morning, only that there are miles and miles between the woman who goes to sleep at night and the woman who wakes up in the morning.

One day her feet are dirty; open and bleeding. Grateful for Fitz's deep sleep she quickly washes them before he can see it.

The others notice too, especially Bobbi and Fitz who work with her in the lab every day. They're too polite to outright ask her, but Jemma notices them worrying. Bobbi's earnest looks linger a little too long to be coincidental. Fitz smiles at her a lot more than he used too, before glancing at Bobbi for her opinion.

She's happy they had had somebody to lean on to while she'd been gone.

She's glad they worry.

But ---

They shouldn't have to.

She's an adult, a grown woman, closer to thirty and than twenty. Nobody should have to worry about her.

So she tries to hide it as good as she can. For her and for them.

 

_

-

 

"Simmons?"

She blinks a few times, open - closed - open - closed. The hallucination doesn't vanish.

"Simmons!"

Andrew repeats her name over and over, but she can't focus on him. Not when there's something much more important, happening in front of her.

An aura of dark grey surrounds him, as if somebody had clothed him in the fog of a late November Day.

It's a cloud of dread, and she isn't sure if she could touch it if she wanted too.

"You're glowing."

"Thank you?" He responds, sounding downright confused. She hadn't meant it as a compliment. It doesn't feel good, it doesn't feel right.

The feeling in her gut riots, and her pulse picks up. There is this weird feeling, deep in her bones, screaming to be noticed. It dominates any other emotion, waiting to be heard.

"Something bad is going to happen to you." Jemma says. Those are not the words she wants to say, but already while her mouth is saying them, she knows they're true.

Truth is something ambivalent, a matter of circumstances, not all things to all people all the time.

Andrew crocks his head to the side. "Why do you think that?"

"I don't think. I know."

This truth is different than any other truth she has ever known. Science is logical, explainable and above all, true. There are laws to everything, explaining the fabric of the universe.

Even on the alien planet there had existed certain laws she had been able to follow, not unlike the physical laws on earth. Different, but not as much as one would think. And yet, nothing in her life has ever felt as universal, as true as the feeling in her bones right now. An universal truth, branded into the palms of her hands.

A stream of power flows from her, trying to convince him of her honesty. But all Andrew does is squint his eyes together a little more.

Jemma needs him to believe.

"When will this mysterious tragedy happen to me?"

His tone is light and funny, but nonetheless condescending and anger flares up inside. It's an ugly white rage, hot and fiery.

"I am not lying to you." She all but shouts into his face.

"I didn't say you are."

"You were implying it." Jemma yells, and she is definitely loud now. Her hands cover her mouth in surprise and shame. This is not supposed to happen. She can't let herself lose her temper.

"Simmons ---" Andrew starts, as calm as ever, but she doesn't let him finish.

"I can feel it." She whispers, blinking back tears of fear.

"What is 'it'?"

"I don't know." She says.

But Jemma means something else.

She knows.

_Death._

 

-  
-

 

It's unorthodox, maybe, and certainly mean, but if Andrew doesn't believe her, she has to persuade somebody else into listening to her. And if Jemma's has learned anything from her friendship with Lance, it's that husbands always listen to their wives, divorced or not.

She'll apologize to him, later, when his life's not in danger anymore.

It's a fine line she's walking on, a tightrope even, but Jemma's sure that it'll carry her across the canyon of her own doubt.

She secludes herself, hides in a storage closet, because the irrational fear of being followed is still very real in her mind. The display of her cell phone lights up the dark. May answers after the second ring.

"Simmons. Is everything alright? Are you hurt?"

They have talked before, though on the phone exclusively, since she's still out there with Lance, searching for Ward. Jemma doesn't know what she thinks about Hunter's need for revenge. It's different when it's somebody else doing it.

"I'm okay. I just --- I have a feeling."

May is quiet for a moment. "What kind of feeling?"

"Like Andrew might die." Jemma puts it out there without a warning. She needs May to understand. Because the feeling won't leave her. She's knows she is right about it. She hopes she is not, but she is.

"You think that something is going to happen to Andrew?" May sounds less doubtingly than Jemma would have expected.

"Yes." She tries to find the right words. "It's a gut feeling, you know?"

"I know. Hunter and I are close to Andrew's university. I'll have a talk with him tomorrow."

"Thank you."

The sound of gunshots rings on May's end of the line and she curses loudly. "Have to go. We'll talk tomorrow."

 

-  
-

  
Despite not wanting to start working, Jemma finds herself in the lab doing exatly that. They have some samples from her clothes they want to test and she wants to be the one who does it.

"I brought it here after all." Jemma explains and Bobbi can't argue with her logic.

She takes a sterile cotton swab and draws some material from the buttons that are left on her torn blouse. She promises herself that she won't wear blouses in a very long time. Six months straight are enough.

A sharp pain in her abdomen distracts her from starting a bacterial culture. The agar plate and the swab fall out of her hands and down on the floor.

"Jemma?"

From his work place, Fitz turns to her worriedly. He gets up immediately and his hands hover at her sides, not quite touching but ready to help her if she'd need him to.

The room blurs in front of her eyes. Another image overlays with the real one, a lonely corner between two buildings.

Voices ring in her ears.

Somebody screams. The world explodes in pain and agony and a scream escapes from her lips.

"Jemma!"

Some bitter taste lingers in her mouth.

And out of the sudden --- she's not in the lab anymore.

Jemma rotates around herself, taking in her surroundings. It's a rather empty part of an university campus, the sun almost fully gone behind the horizon.

May.

She's laying on the ground. Blood is streaming from a wound in her abdomen. Somewhere near, but outside of her visual field Jemma can hear Hunter screaming desperately.

Ice cold fear takes hold of her body, paralyzing her from head to toe. This is not supposed to happen, not at all. She falls to her knees, her hands closing the bleeding wound on May's abdomen.

She has done this before, months ago, for Skye. She knows how to apply the pressure now, her fingers shaped like a wound dressing.

Jemma doesn't how she came here, how she traveled the distance from the Playground to May's badly wounded body.

But it doesn't matter how.

Not now.

She knows why.

She needs to prevent this from happening, she needs to save May.

The last chains holding her back break apart. Something shifts inside her, the ice melting, and searing heat blazes through her veins. Hot, bright fire replacing her blood. The smug grin on the boy's face fuels her rage even more, gasoline nurturing the flames.

If she burns, she's gonna take him with her.

Every particle in her body vibrates, the nuclei in her cells parting to duplicate her whole self. Jemma can feel herself being ripped apart, being torn apart into two. One piece of her is still at the at the Playground, while the other one is appearing here.

It's not real, not yet.

She can't touch May - not yet, not how it matters, not really - but she's almost there.

Jemma knows.

The guy's expression changes suddenly, it falls, his mouth gaping open wide. And it's only then that the ground below her feels solid, the blood on her hands smelling of copper and iron.

She can feel Hunter's aura, farther away from her, different than those of the people unharmed. He's alive, she can tell as much, but he's certainly not conscious and most likely injured. But it's far from the vibes she can feel from May's injuries, bleeding out on the ground next to her.

"Who are you?" The man looking like a frat boy asks. He doesn't sound like he's convinced she's really here

Her instincts kick in and it's not fight - or - flight, but kill - and - defend. The hungry anger needs to be fed and he'll do.

_He has hurt May._

_He needs to pay._

She gets to her feet, May's blood still sticking to her hands. Whatever the man must see in her face, his own looks terrified of her.

Everything she has learned in the other dimension breaks free, the instinct to survive and avenge. "I'm your worst nightmare." she growls.

The man tries to escape backwards, but he is not fast enough. Jemma comes closer. A voice inside her mind tells her what to do next. She wraps her left hand around his right one and squeezes hard. The motion itself doesn't hurt him, it's harmless. 

But the void that has been opened inside her, the hunger, feeds itself from the presented energy. With every heartbeat, more and more life drains from his body. He screams, for his life, for salvation, until there's not enough life there.

His mouth closes and his legs give out under him. Jemma releases his wrists and watches as he drops to the ground. Jemma stares at the dead body in front of her, terrified of what she has done to him. But despite the disgust she feels about herself, she can't bring herself to care about him. He is not important right now.

May is.

She runs back too her and feels for a pulse. It's barely there and her breathing is shallow. May's eyes are open, but not focusing at anything.

"May."

Jemma prays to every god she knows and doesn't know to save her life. She'd trade anything, including her own life, if it meant to save May. She screams for help, but nobody hears her. Closing the wound with her hands doesn't work anymore. There's no blood in her blood vessels left.

"Talk to me. Please."

Jemma begs and begs, but she doesn't receive an answers. She lifts May's lifeless body and cradles her like a child, hoping to at least to give her comfort during her last moments. 

_Please don't die._

Rivers of light glow from deep within her and wrap them in a glowing orb. It feels like breathing, like running, like living. The energy she has taken only minutes before activates itself and it flows directly into May. Her cells, thirsting for life, soak it up like a sponge. 

Keeping the stream flowing is a difficult task. Jemma doesn't what she has to do, doesn't how she can control it. But despite her amateurish attempts, it has a visible effect. May's complexion turns rosy again. Her eyes open haltingly, but they see her and the ball of light instantly.

Jemma stops whatever she is doing and lets out a deep breath of relief.

"You had a feeling." May says hoarsely. 

Jemma nods through tears. She lets May down softly, being particularly careful with her head.

_May is alright._

_She did this._

And just like she came here, Jemma vanishes again. Without a single trace left. 

 

-  
-

 

"Jemma!"

Lying on the cold tile floor of the lab, she comes to her senses again. Bobbi and Fitz are bending over her, eyes blown wide with fear. The full magnitude of what she has just done hits her hard.

Jemma scrambles to her feat, ignoring her friends's desperate attempt of getting an answer out of her. Nausea overtakes her body and she throws up in the closest trashcan.

And then she runs.

Because during the last six months running is the only thing that ever did anything good. Running for her life saved her life and that's why she opts for it now.

She locks herself in the pod, hiding under the bed in an desperate attempt to find coverage, taking shelter somewhere safe.

She lies there, flat on her belly and waits for the gunfire in her ears to subside. With her eyes closed and barely breathing, enclosed by darkness, the space reminds her of the caves she used to hide in on the alien planet. The pressure in her chest lessen, but not enough to give her a feeling of safety. Her breathing slows, but her mind races up and down and down.

_She has killed a man._

_She has killed a man._

Jemma looks down on he hands, pale white and laced with superficial veins in dark blue. They just started to become softer again, after months of digging through the dirt.

Together with Bobbi and Daisy she had tested through a sheer endless supply of various hand lotions, of different textures and smells. She had chosen one herself eventually, in a bright yellow tube, that reminded of the sun. It smelled of macadamia and Tahiti vanilla, and the joke had made them laugh until their stomachs hurt and the memory had attached itself to the small packaging.

It made her smile whenever she put it on her hands every morning.

But now her hands smell of nothing but blood and death.

Again.

She has killed a man.

Her hands, tiny hands she had used to fight, to survive, to defend, had taken his life. And it was different from Bakshi's death because this time the blow wasn't softened by a weapon.

She had become the weapon herself.

Something on this planet had taken hold of her body, she realizes, almost too late.

Something has changed her fundamentally, for the worse it seems.

Her hands still shake so badly, Jemma balls them into fists, fingers clenching together. She's curled up like a fetus. It's more than uncomfortable. Her shoulders are jammed in between the floor and the mattress of the bed above her.

With her eyes fixed at the dark corner, where the light can't reach her, she feels safer than anywhere else. The darkness doesn't frighten her anymore, it feels more like a blanket, a shield, thrown over her.

Outside the pod voices start yelling her name, but she doesn't have it in her to answer them. It hurts her to hurt them like this, but she can't speak, can barely move.

Whatever they want from her, it must wait, because she needs to find herself first. The fear is still too strong to push back, too strong to swallow down.

_Space._

_Space._

_I Need Space._

At some point she says it out loud, at least she can her hear voice, and the voices die down a little. There's the shuffling of feet and the quiet murmur outside the thing walls of the pod, but they don't open the door and Jemma's never been so grateful before. All she needs is not a soul around her, distance from another human being, not she could kill.

This is her body and the alien planet has molded it into something else.

Jemma almost throws up again.

 

-  
-

 

This night she doesn't let anybody in.

This night she doesn't close her eyes.

This night she doesn't let her prison take her hostage again.

  
-  
-

 

May and Lance return to the base the next morning. She is fully healed and waiting in front of the pod for her, when Jemma wakes up in the morning. Jemma doesn't open the door for her.

"I won't come in if you don't want me to. I won't open this door forcefully. But you should know that I'd like to."

"Don't touch me"

"I won't hurt you. And you won't hurt me."

"Why don't you fear me?" Jemma whispers through broken sobs. Her tears are a never-ending stream burning her eyes red. She can taste salt on her lips. "Why are you so sure about it?"

"I will never fear you."

"But you saw what I did. You know what happened."

"I know you saved my life."

Jemma looks down at her lap. "One wrong movement and it could have ended another way. I could have killed you."

"But it didn't."

"How can you have so much faith in me?"

May sighs, a melancholic smile on her lips. "Because I trust you." 

She puts her arms around Jemma's shoulders, pulling her closer. Jemma cries into May's jacket. Every dam is broken, tears streaming down like waterfalls. Their position mimics yesterday's, though it's reversed now. Now it's May giving her energy and stability, holding her in her arms. Jemma doesn't know if she'll ever be able to properly express her thankfulness.

She thinks that maybe she doesn't have to. 

"I'll give you answers, Simmons. I'll help you fix this."

 

-  
-

 

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, Simmons. I should have listened to you."

"I wouldn't have believed myself, Andrew. It's okay."

 

-  
-

 

Days pass and sometimes they feel slow, tenacious as honey. Sometimes they feel as if everything happens too fast and she can't follow any movements. The sun goes up and it goes down.

She doesn't want to count it anymore.

On the planet she did nothing but count. She counted the hours of a day and the hours of a night. She counted the amount of wolves in a pack. She counted her supplies. She counted the amount of sun rises to keep track of time.

She is tired of numbers and counting.

Jemma spends those days in her bed, curled up in fetal position and facing the white wall. The others visit, trying to help her as good as they can.

Daisy comes, tells her how it feels to be broken apart and remade into something new, a weapon with powers nobody understands.

Bobbi comes, and distracts with stories about her old team, about her marriage, about her childhood, about literally anything.

Lance comes, with beer as if it's the solution to everything. He cracks jokes and makes her smile despite everything.

Fitz comes and he stays, her quiet companion through endless days and nights. She never touches him, not with bare skin at least, afraid of what she might do to him. He says he's not afraid of her, but she doesn't take chances anymore.

She fights, but they fight with her.

 

_  
-

 

Lady Sif and May having tea together in the common living room should surprise her, but it doesn't. They seem to only wait for her. Jemma feels insufficient in her sweatpants compared to the Asgardian in her full warrior armour. But she lets the feeling ebb away. The clothes feel good and that's enough.

"Hi."

"Hello, Lady Jemma." Sif greets her before taking a sip of her tea.

 _Why is she here?,_ Jemma mouths inaudibly.

"I promised you I'd help you fix things." May answers. She gestures towards Sif. "She has answers."

"I do, indeed. And I must say, your resilience is admirable. Not mortal man or woman has ever been transported to Hel and has returned alive to tell the tale. The ground there is littered with the remains of their bones."

_I know._

_I have been there._

_I have seen them._

"It doesn't explain her --- " May lets the end of the sentence hang in the open.

"Change. State. Condition." Jemma throws in, to lighten the mood. It doesn't have the desired effect. May looks a little sadder and it takes her

"Every realm needs a ruler. And whoever is strong enough to survive in Hel, where no soul can live, is allowed to wear the crown."

Wait.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Out of everything she has heard and seen these last few weeks and months, out of all the sacrifices she has made, this is the most lunatic moment to her.

Andrew has diagnosed her with PTSD and the whole team hovers around her worriedly all day, she has killed a man with the touch of her hand and she has saved May's life with the very same hands.

She has survived.

For six months she has survived, where nothing lives, and now Asgard's warrior goddess tells her she is now the literal Queen of Hell.

Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, laughter bubbles up from inside her. Jemma laughs, with tears streaming down her face. She wants to take this situation seriously, she has to, but it's too absurd and she can't stop it.

May and Sif look at her, as if she's losing her mind. Maybe she is.

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

"I know it might be a lot to take in. But I'm sure you'll get used to it. Do you have questions?"

"More than you can answer." Jemma mumbles.

"Then maybe you should start asking then."

"Why do my dreams feel so real?" She explains them as good as possible, how she walks through the wasteland, how she can feel everything as if it was real.

"Astral Projection. You're both here and there." Sif answers.

"How do I stop it?"

"Training. I'll be of help, if you need me too. I'm sure Thor would be too if we asked him."

The mention of Thor gets a reaction out of May, one that says 'Dreamy' better than any words ever could. Jemma almost smiles at that.

"We should schedule a trip to Asgard."

"No." Jemma interrupts loudly. The sheer thought of having to leave the base any time soon leaves her anxious. She doesn't want to go anywhere. She wants to stay here. She is safe here.

"We don't have to do it now, right?" May comes to her rescue.

Sif nods. "Of course not. One day."

"One day." Jemma whispers. "One day."

 

_  
-

 

"Wait, just for the record: She's not a princess, but a queen?" Lance can't close his mouth anymore. "Well, at least I called the blue blood in her veins."

Jemma just rolls her eyes and lets Bobbi and Fitz do the playful hitting. 

 

-  
-

 

She doesn't know how to use these new powers of hers.

(Yet.)

She doesn't know what it means for her to be forever bound to her personal hell.

(Yet.)

She doesn't know what this makes her.

(Yet.)

She doesn't know if it's going to worsen everything.

(Yet.)

But Jemma has a lot of time and a lot of help and she's going to find out.

 

-  
-

 

Jemma slowly takes one step forward, and then another one. "What are you doing with me?"

"You're going to find out soon enough." Fitz's voice is almost omnipresent, close to her right ear. She can feel his warmth and goosebumps rise on her arms.

It shouldn't be possible for another person to have such an effect on her and yet here she is. Her hands stretches out to touch him, grabbing the nearest body part she can reach.

Fingers closing around his lower arm, near his wrist, she can feel his heartbeat under his pulse point. The sensation is almost otherworldly, especially since she can't see a single thing under the blindfold he had insisted on putting on her.

_(You can say no. They just thought it would be fun._

_It's okay, Fitz. It's not going to be long, right?_

_No, just a few minutes._

_Good. Just don't leave me._

_Never again.)_

Fitz clears his throat, but doesn't say anything. Under her fingertips she can feel his hand shivering. It feels comforting, not being the only one affected by the change in their relationship.

"And what is it exactly I'm going to find out?" Jemma asks, bringing back her thoughts on track.

"Something." Fitz mumbles and he sounds both excited and distracted. "Is it okay to touch you?"

Jemma stands still. Fitz does the same, her hands still touching. She closes her eyes, because despite the darkness of the blindfold she can concentrate better. His aura glows in a healthy gold, warm and strong. It outlines his whole body and she can see him without really seeing.

She's getting better at this. Seeing people's  _life glow._

One step forward and she has his back pressed against the wall and her front against his chest.

Fitz lets out a laugh. "That's not what we are supposed to do."

"Are you complaining?" Jemma is almost offended.

"Does it look like I'm complaining?"

"Don't know, I can't see anything."

He cups her checks with his fingers, slowly pulling her into to him until their lips meet. His stubble scratches against her skin. Heat pools deep in her belly and Jemma leans even closer, slipping her tongue into his mouth.

She realizes that this their first kiss, their first real kiss, and the happy feeling makes her giggle.

Despite getting better at touching people, at letting herself touch them without fearing she might kill them, she is still taken aback by how good happiness feels. The absent of happiness is the most palpable in contrast to the warmth of true happiness.

Somewhere down the hall, somebody clears their throat.

"You done there?"

Bobbi.

Jemma blushes and takes a step back from Fitz, keeping contact at the same time. It feels a lot like being caught by your big sister. Not that she or Fitz would know anything about big sisters, the only children they are.

"Yep."

"Okay."

Bobbi takes her other arm and together they walk her farther down the corridor. When they finally stop, they take off the blindfold and Jemma opens her eyes.

 

-  
-

 

There are balloons everywhere, in every vibrant colour the rainbow has to offer.

"You're an Honorary Inhuman now! Welcome to the team!" Daisy exclaims with the brightest smile on her lips. Noise erupts from them. Lance blows into a plastic instrument that looks an awful lot like a vuvuzela and yes, it sounds exactly the same. Fitz had had one during the World Cup 2010.

It hadn't ended well for the vuvuzela.

On the table in front of her is a cake that says "Space Queen Jemma" with a crown above the word 'space'. Hunter also has a real crown made of plastic in his hands and puts it on her head. "Perfect."

They all look at her so expectantly, so joyful, so ready to help her, Jemma can't help herself. Tears of happiness roll down her cheeks. Because this is her team and they have her back.

Even if she has PTSD, even if she just got handed the keys to a kingdom she neither wants nor understands.

They have her back.

"Let's eat cake." she says with a tearful voice. Fitz intertwines his fingers with hers. Jemma puts a gentle kiss at the corner of his lips.

They have her back and it might be okay one day.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so for fic reasons I shamelessly borrowed various powers from both Hela, the ruler of Hel and Valkyrie, another superhero in the Marvel 616 Universe. Hela is actually a villain, but I promise you Jemma is certainly not. (I just needed her to make her queen of Hel.)
> 
> You can also find me @ mightyjemma.tumblr.com. I'd love to hear what you think about it. Feedback is always very much appreciated.


End file.
